Then I heard a voice.
“Renee?”
My heart stopped.
My mother stepped into the doorway.
She stared at me.
I stared back.
“What are you doing here?”
I whispered.
“The same thing you are.”
“How did you know?”
“You weren’t answering your phone.”
“That doesn’t tell you where I went.”
Silence.
My mother’s eyes moved to the open drawer.
Then to the papers in my hand.
Something changed in her face.
Barely.
But I saw it.
“What did you find?” she asked.
I held up the letter.
“Why does Preston have correspondence saying you’ll control eight million dollars when I die?”
Her lips parted.
“I told you.
That’s how the trust works.”
“This says ‘cooperation of trustee.’”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“He was working with someone expecting you to cooperate.”
She looked genuinely shaken.
Or she was a better actress than Sabine.
Then headlights moved across the bedroom wall.
My mother grabbed my arm.
“Someone’s here.”
Preston was supposed to be at the charity dinner.
Quade had confirmed it.
A car door slammed.
We ran downstairs.
The front lock turned.
My mother pulled me toward the basement.
We barely closed the door before Preston entered.
He was on the phone.
I heard every word.
“No, Sabine doesn’t know everything.”
My mother and I stood in darkness.
Preston walked into the kitchen directly above us.
“She thinks the insurance money is the main payout.”
Pause.
“No.”
Another pause.
Then:
